However, the main feature in the office was a one-way glass partition from which the drapes had been drawn back to reveal filming already in progress.
Colin approached the glass, eager to see his first live performance, a real movie in progress. His happy smile collapsed into slack-jawed shock as his brain processed the action before him.
Under glaring floodlights was a huge platform bed covered in shiny red plastic. A nude black woman was on her back trying unsuccessfully to look as if she were in the throes of passion, while a pasty-white man with limp blond hair and angry red pimples on his ass tried valiantly to impale her.
The woman’s unconvincing voice oozed from a metal speaker hung from the ceiling over the window, “Oh, yeah, baby! That’s the way! Fuck me! Harder! Harder!”
A man approached the bed holding a camcorder against his shoulder. As he filmed, he shouted, “Come on, Troy! You heard the lady. Fuck her! And don’t forget to pull out this time! And when you do, stroke that big dick of yours slow, just like I showed ya. Shoot it on her tits, not on the sheets. And remember, Troy, no cum shot for the camera means no nose candy for you afterward. So c’mon, you can do it! Go! Go!”
When it became evident that Troy lacked the performance skills necessary for a successful finale, the cameraman yelled, “Hey, Billy, get in there and help Troy out.”
From behind the cameraman, another naked man appeared from the shadows. Unlike Troy, who was having trouble keeping an erection, Billy was a beefy football type, with tight muscles and a raging hard-on a superhero would envy. Crawling onto the low-slung bed, he searched beyond the lights for more direction.
“Okay, Billy. Get behind Troy’s asshole. Yeah, that’s it. Lube up. Okay, now mount him, yeah, that’s right—just like that. Find his love button in there, and let’s get the juices flowing!”
Under Billy’s eager lust, the trio gasped and grunted their way to an explosion of award winning orgasms.
Colin stared dumbly at the scene before him.
Faggots! These guys are queer!
Bile boiled up from his guts, burning the back of his throat. His hands and feet tingled as if suddenly deprived of blood. He reached up to his forehead to wipe away sweat that should have been there, but somehow wasn’t.
Stunned by disgust and what was now a confirmed feeling of betrayal, he staggered back, bumping into the desk and pushing over a chair as he turned to leave.
Louis blocked Colin by placing his hands on his shoulders. His voice was soft, almost mesmerizing.
“Easy, kid, just take it easy. Just sit down for a second.”
Loathing, fear, and above all panic, hopscotched around Colin’s brain. He heard Carew’s voice as if through a waterfall. He shook his head, pushing words and images away with all his might, but he couldn’t banish the vision of the two naked young men or the stinging salt of his tears.
His mind screamed, Oh God! I’ve gotta get out!
With Louis blocking his path, Colin stood passive for a moment, hoping there was an explanation for this horror, but he knew the truth before he asked, “What is this place? I don’t understand. I thought you liked me! I don’t do this stuff! Why didn’t you tell me this is what you wanted?”
He shot Louis an angry look and tried again to pass around the now hated man.
“I gotta go.”
Louis, taller and stronger, gripped Colin’s shoulders tighter. He guided the stricken teen to the dirty couch and forced him down.
From where he sat, Colin could clearly see Billy, Troy, and the woman gyrating in feigned happiness.
No longer able to contain himself, Colin burst into sobs.
Louis sneered at the boy’s blubbering.
“This place is where I make my living, and it’s where I get my nookie on the side.”
Colin leapt up.
“I’ve heard enough! Let me outta here!” he said, pushing past Louis.
He stopped short when he saw a man sitting in a shadowed corner of the room, silently waiting for the charade to end. The Arab, who called himself Ben, had watched the scene with amused impatience. He shifted slightly in his seat, reaching out to switch on a reading lamp, and then adjusted something hidden under his wool coat.
Colin tried to gauge his chances of bolting across the room and out the door. They weren’t good. He looked back at Louis, grinning like a jackass with a briar caught in its teeth. He looked at the Arab. Colin’s voice cracked. “Wha… what do you want with me?”
Unknown to Colin, he was looking into the eyes of the man who had beheaded dozens of bound captives in the name of Islam, Soo Kwon among them.
“Mr. Phillips?” Ben said softly, his accent pronounced.
The man’s formal manner, so out of place with the situation, made Colin take a closer look at him. His instinct to run away as fast as he could was momentarily smothered by characteristic teen curiosity.
“You are the son of Jan Phillips, is that not correct?”
“Yes!” Colin foolishly confessed. “And if you know that, then you know he’s an important man, so you’d better not touch me!”
The man with the foreign accent smiled as one confident of his own strength. He said, “Mr. Phillips, the irony of worldly importance is that, once the game is over, the king and the pawn go back into the same box. However, for this moment in time, I, too, am an important man. Therefore, when you are in my presence you will be so kind as to lower your voice and be respectful.”
To Louis, Ben said, “Close the drapes. It is not fitting for a son of Allah to witness the sins of the depraved.”
Louis pressed a button on his desk, and a black curtain swept across the observation window. The show was over.
Ben nodded. “That is much better.”
Louis shrugged. “They’re finished anyway.” He checked his watch. “They’ll be outta here before we are.”
“I don’t know what you people are up to. I just know it doesn’t have anything to do with me! Now let me go!” Colin shouted.
“Very well, we shall be leaving soon,” Ben said.
“I’m not going anywhere with you!”
A wicked smile painted itself across the Arab’s mouth as he thought of the moment when he would hack this boy’s head off. Such sweet revenge, if Allah wills it.
Ben’s smile drooped into a frown. “I am afraid I must insist,” he said smoothly.
Colin sensed a movement from behind him as Louis moved up and attempted to slip a leather belt over his head and down around his arms.
Ben fingered the stun gun hidden in the breast pocket of his coat. He waved Louis off. “Restraints will not be necessary. Besides, if we are unfortunate enough to be stopped by the authorities, it would be difficult to explain a leashed boy in our company.”
Ben reflected on Colin’s panic and his over-the-top reaction to the male on male sex he had just witnessed. Seizing on this vulnerability to further break the boy’s will to fight, he said, “Mr. Phillips, how would you like to star in one of Louis’s feature films?”
“Yeah,” Louis said, “I’ll fuck you myself, ya little asshole. How’d ya like that? I’ve never raped a boy before. Might be fun at that!”
Colin shook his head… a terrified, silent NO!
Ben chuckled. “I thought not.”
The Arab paused in mock thought. He walked around in a small circle, as if considering some weighty problem of state. Then he said, “Mr. Phillips, I am a reasonable man. I will strike a bargain with you. If you remain calm and do as I say, I promise you will live out the rest of your life in respectable obscurity. Fame will not be yours, at least not in this manner. How is that? Agreed?”
Colin slumped onto a metal stool and hung his head. His voice, barely a whisper, trembled. “What do I have to do?”
Ben looked at his accomplice.
“You see, Louis? That was not so difficult, and all without force. So much more agreeable.”
Thirty-Three
JAN caught up with Amal at half past seven
as he completed his prayers for the setting of the sun. Normally, he would not seek Amal out during prayer time. He waited respectfully for the Egyptian to stand and slip on his sandals.
Amal turned, surprised to see Jan.
“Effendi, I did not hear….”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Amal, but have you seen Colin?”
“He has not yet returned from the city?”
“No. I thought he might have come in and gone out again, but the security log only shows him leaving.”
Jan had set aside the evening to have a talk with Colin about Louis Carew. He needed to know the exact nature of Colin’s dealings with the man. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, and Jan was going to put a stop to it.
Jan’s eyes darted around the sparsely furnished room Amal used for prayer and private time, unsure what to do next.
“Effendi, perhaps you should contact the parents of Master Colin’s friends. Perhaps he went to the home of his lady friend.”
The reference to parents and Colin’s lady friend was Amal’s tactful way of suggesting Jan call Marsha Betterman to see if his son was there banging her daughter.
Jan gave Amal a knowing smile as they left the room and walked the long hall.
“Thanks, I’ll do that now. Umm… Amal, would you please have another look around?”
“Of course.”
Amal watched Jan walk on and descend to the lower level. He then climbed the stairs that led to the top floor observation deck. Amal knew that Colin often went up there to watch the ships as they docked farther down river. He also knew his master’s son was nowhere in the house.
JAN walked briskly to the office and straight to the phone. He snatched up the receiver and punched in Marsha Betterman’s home phone number. Four, five rings, then an electronic voice answered and encouraged the caller to leave a message.
Jan slammed the phone into the cradle.
“Damn!”
“Jan! Such language, and on Sunday too! What is eating you?” Michael said.
Jan turned. He hadn’t noticed Michael huddled on the floor, surrounded by boxes full of import invoices—all in Chinese.
“I can’t find Colin. He hasn’t come home yet. Did he say anything to you about where he was going?”
“No. I have not seen him since lunch. He did not mention going out to me, but then he does not say much to me anyway.”
“Where could he be? He’s been gone for hours! What could he be up to?” Jan said, his own words adding to his mounting anxiety.
“Have you tried Marsha’s house? Perhaps he is with Alexandra,” Michael offered hopefully.
“That’s who I just phoned. I got an answering service.”
“You did not leave a message.”
“No,” Jan said, “what was I going to say, where’s my little boy?”
“Well, Jan, he is a teenager with a girlfriend. Love does not always look at the clock.” He shook his head and chuckled. “You know, sometimes I think you are getting old.”
“Old eh? I’m not the one with gray hair.”
Michael gave a shrug, shoved aside the box he had been examining, and frowned.
“Lose something, old man?”
Michael, who was younger than Jan by several years, had aged, not in his body, yet something was missing in his spirit.
Michael raised his gaze with what looked to Jan like tears in his eyes.
“I have been sitting here for a half hour, searching these boxes, and I can’t remember what I was looking for. It must be important. I think I need a vacation. Can we go to the beach house soon?”
Jan knelt beside Michael.
“Come here. You need a hug. We’ll go to the beach as soon as I round up my wayward son.”
Michael replied with a thankful grin.
Jan returned it with a troubled smile and said, “Michael, I think I’ll drive over to Marsha’s, just to make sure.”
Thirty-Four
JAN pushed the bell on Marsha Betterman’s condo door. He checked his watch. It was just after nine o’clock. The door opened just enough for Jan to see Alexandra peeking over the safety chain.
“Mr. Phillips! What are you doing here? I mean… wait. I’ll take the chain off.”
A moment later Jan was standing in the apartment’s posh living room. The décor screamed Coco Chanel.
Scanning for signs of his son, Jan asked abruptly, “Alexandra, is Colin here with you?”
Pummeled since birth with what her mother declared was a matter of manners, Yes please, No thank you, and How do you do, were drilled into Alexandra like Hail Marys into a sinner. On those occasions when she had seen Jan Phillips, he was cool, calm, and courteous. Standing in front of her was a man frazzled. Something was definitely not right.
“No, Mr. Phillips, he’s not. I haven’t seen him since late this afternoon,” she answered honestly.
She hoped to make a good impression on Jan, especially now, since Colin had told her how much his father opposed their relationship, at least the sexual part.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
Jan ran a nervous hand around his face.
“Umm… I’m not sure,” he said, scanning the room once more. “Zan, where’s your mother?”
“She went to a meeting of the Professional Women’s Association. They always meet across the square at The Barclay. I have the number for the hotel. Would you like me to call her?”
Jan shook his head no.
“When did you say you last saw him?”
“It was around six—maybe a little before.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Where were you when you saw him?”
“Schrafft’s.”
“Did he say he was going anywhere else?”
From the look of growing panic on Jan’s face, Alexandra now knew something big was going on, but she wasn’t going to snitch about Colin’s plan to see Louis Carew about a job either. She knew if she did, he’d never forgive her.
She hesitated.
“Alexandra?”
“No, he didn’t,” she lied.
Jan wasn’t a lawyer for nothing. He knew when someone tried to mislead him. Still, there was little he could do to force information from this young woman.
“Zan, he hasn’t come home yet, and I’m worried. He doesn’t know the city nearly as well as he thinks he does. I… I don’t know.”
Alexandra felt her knees grow weak. She had warned Colin about that Lou guy, and now his dad was looking for him. And, Mr. Phillips was right. Colin wasn’t a city brat. He even gave panhandlers spare change! Just the same, this didn’t mean anything was wrong.
Maybe he just lost track of time, or maybe he decided to skip meeting with Lou and went to a movie, she reasoned.
Whatever the answer, she didn’t feel she should send Colin’s dad to wander around the warehouse district looking for Louis Carew’s film studio, especially when she didn’t even know where it was, for sure.
Alexandra fidgeted with a silver bracelet, a gift from Colin.
“Mr. Phillips,” she said, “if Colin calls me, I’ll tell him to phone home right away. I promise.”
“Thanks, Zan, I’d appreciate it. Well, I’d better get going. Thanks again.”
As soon as Alexandra closed the door on Jan, she dashed to the phone books in the computer room and pulled out the business section.
Oh, no! her panicked mind cried, There’s no listing for Louis Carew!
Her mind racing, she threw the fat book aside and pulled a chair to her computer. She typed LOUIS CAREW + PHILADELPHIA in the Google search bar. Nothing. Variations of the search yielded zero hits. All she could remember of her conversation about Lou and his studio was the vague location Colin had mentioned.
If that’s where he thinks it is, then that’s where he’s probably gone, she thought.
Alexandra pulled on a pair of jeans, slipped on thick cotton socks, and jammed her feet into her leather boots. She grabbed a
cashmere sweater and a down jacket, on the off chance that, for once, the weatherman was right and a cold snap was, in fact, heading for town. She snatched up a horde of ten-dollar bills from her rainy day stash and hurried out of the apartment.
She had no idea how much bad weather she was in for.
Thirty-Five
NICK FLAMINGO sat slouched behind the wheel of his battered 2001 Nissan Pathfinder. A custom supercharged engine, combined with a carriage suspension that rivaled a Sherman tank, compensated for what this car lacked in sheen and style. Nick required speed and rugged agility in a car when he was working, and his souped-up model was just the thing. Surveillance was the worst part of the detective business. Flamingo had been sitting behind black tinted windows since seven thirty, a scant two hours with nothing to look at but decaying buildings and an occasional stray dog chasing a cat. Sunday traffic in the warehouse district was nonexistent.
The building on this stakeout housed Louis Carew’s porn operation. Nick was into his second week, and hours of surveillance had produced nothing but a flare-up of painful hemorrhoids, another occupational hazard, besides boredom, or getting beat up by an irate husband caught cheating on his wife.
Nick studied the old warehouse for the umpteenth time. What puzzled him the most was the lack of activity. During weekdays, the other businesses bustled, while LC Enterprises was as dormant as a hibernating bear. The approach of a white van caused him to look into the rearview mirror. The car passed by slowly, turned into an alley across from the stakeout, and disappeared from view. He noted the time in his logbook.
NICK sat up and fished under his seat for a Starbucks Frappacchino that had long since lost its icy chill. Stretching awkwardly for the elusive plastic coated bottle, his fingers met instead with crumpled candy wrappers, an old racing form, and something very sharp. With bloodied knuckles and a kink in his back, he sat up and grumbled, “Damn! I’m getting too old for this.”
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